


I Don't Do Drugs (I Am Drugs)

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Paper Tigers [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Issues, Consent Play, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Inception Bingo, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Eames suggests a new way to push Arthur's boundaries, and they both get more than they bargained for.HEED THE TAGS ON THIS, PLEASE. There is sex in this story that cannot, by design, have explicit, in-the-moment, consent.





	I Don't Do Drugs (I Am Drugs)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my sixth Inception Bingo 2018 story, for the bingo square "drugs/aphrodisiacs." It takes place in the [Paper Tigers](https://archiveofourown.org/series/985980) universe, directly after [There's biology in everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15314415), and won't fully make sense without that background.

Arthur hated himself, a little, for not just breaking things off with Eames. He’d promised himself when they started that the minute Eames started asking questions or displaying reservations, it was done. But that point had been passed and ignored some time back. Now they were much farther along, with Eames pushing for a negotiation. A negotiation was the very last thing Arthur wanted.

The beauty of having this...thing...with Eames was that somehow, after so many years, Arthur trusted him. Not just trusted him to keep things safe enough to go on, but trusted him to make the decisions Arthur didn’t want to make. When Eames started getting uncomfortable, Arthur was less safe. Now, grudgingly meeting Eames on neutral ground to have an actual discussion about what they’d be up to, Arthur wasn’t safe at all.

Why, he’d asked himself over and over on the flight, was he doing this? Why did he not just cut his losses, as had been his plan? It would probably make working with Eames awkward, but they’d survive it. Arthur would find other ways to scratch the itch that had only gotten worse since he’d started with Eames. He’d done it before. He finally decided it had to be curiosity as much as anything that had him flying across the world. He wanted to know what Eames would say. He wanted to know if Eames would stand firm, or if he’d offer up ground. Even about this, Arthur relished the challenge of a negotiation. So he flew to Belize.

“Why the hell are we here?” Arthur asked, his first words to Eames when he found him sitting on a beach chair, sipping a cocktail. “Is this just an opportunity for you to be ridiculous?”

“Arthur,” Eames drawled, as if Arthur’s arrival had been a surprise. He looked up from behind tacky mirrored sunglasses, and Arthur glared at his own reflection. “Lovely to see you, too.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m going to change. Room 760 if you want to come up.” Then he stalked away.

Eames did follow, though he waited more than ten minutes. Arthur was equal parts irritated and amused. He clearly wasn’t about to be handed the upper ground here. That was OK, he’d come prepared to fight for it.

They made small talk for a while, sitting on patio chairs on the little balcony attached to Arthur’s room. Eames was tan, wearing shorts and a half-buttoned linen shirt, the vacationing British expat. “Are you running something here?” Arthur asked, motioning around to encompass the resort. “Or is this really where you take vacations?”

Eames smirked. “Bit from each column? I like the sun.” He smiled and looked up at the sky. “But there’s work here, too.”

It put Arthur on a back foot, having Eames on a job when he wasn’t, and even more having it be a job he knew nothing about. Ground he’d have to regain.

As if realizing it, Eames spoke again. “It’s a nothing job, darling,” he said. “Just a bit of a con. No dreaming.”

Arthur nodded. For all that might be true, it didn’t help.

“So,” Eames finally asked. “Shall we have dinner this evening?”

Arthur looked skeptical. “Are we dating now? Am I being courted?”

Eames let Arthur’s sarcasm roll right off. “Maybe?” He shrugged. “Play along, Arthur. You might enjoy it.” Just enough hardness seeped into his voice.

Arthur looked at Eames with level eyes. It was a challenge, then? “Fine,” he said. “Dinner.”

Dinner was remarkably normal. The restaurant was casual, near the beach, gorging on fresh fish and local beer. The staff appeared to recognize Eames, so Arthur gathered he’d been around for at least a few days. Eames told stories--even the ones Arthur had already heard were more interesting after the afternoon nap in which Arthur had indulged and the several beers he’d drunk. Arthur let himself laugh. He wasn’t precisely comfortable, but he was enjoying their “date” more than he would have expected.

As they walked back to the resort, not touching but closer together than they were when they’d come, Eames said, “I have an idea.”

Arthur looked at him and waited.

Eames continued. “For...for you, I guess?”

Arthur couldn’t tell if Eames’ unsureness was a put on or not, so he stayed quiet until Eames spoke again.

“It seems to me that what you’re after is a complete loss of control,” Eames said. His voice was quiet enough Arthur had to strain a bit to hear him. “And I’m fine with that. I...I am amazed by that, honestly.”

“But?” Arthur prompted. If this was going to be a kiss-off speech, he’d like it to be quick enough to still catch a morning flight out.

“That stuff...what we talked about before,” Eames continued. “I don’t think that’s the only way to get you there.”

Arthur tilted his head to look at Eames appraisingly. “OK?” he said, making a “continue” gesture.

“What about drugs?” Eames said.

Arthur frowned. “Drugs? You mean like...roofying me? Jesus Eames.” As he spoke, he was already considering the possibilities.

Eames looked more unsure now, but he took a deep breath and continued. “That’s partially what I mean, yeah.” He watched Arthur’s face as he spoke. “I talked to Yusuf…”

Arthur interrupted. “You did what?”

Eames shook his head quickly. “No, not about you. Just...about one might get up to with the consensual use of chemicals. He was, perhaps unsurprisingly, familiar with the concept.”

“OK?” Arthur was a bit irritated by Yusuf being included in even an anonymous manner, but he was curious enough to continue the conversation.

“He’s got something that he describes, basically, as something between rohypnol and molly.” Eames bit the inside of his lip. Interesting, Arthur thought. He so rarely has tells. “It would lower inhibition, and make someone physically unable to resist, but also enhance desire and potential pleasure. At least, that’s the idea.” When he looked at Arthur again, there was definitely concern in his eyes.

Arthur nodded slowly. He didn’t know a ton about drugs, beyond those used for professional reasons, but he could envision what Eames was describing.

“The thing about it is,” Eames continued, “in some way, it would be an even greater loss of power than anything you suggested.”

“How so?” Arthur was skeptical.

“Because you couldn’t make it stop.” Eames’ eyes were still wary, but there was something dark in them, too. _He wants this,_ Arthur realized, and it sent a thrill through him. “Have you ever been roofied, Arthur?”

“No.”

“The way I understand it, even if you are cognizant of what is happening, you can’t stop it. Neither your body nor your mind can impact the situation.” Eames caught his eye again. “I can’t really think of a bigger loss of control than that.”

They were back at the resort. Without discussing it, they discontinued the conversation until they were safely in Arthur’s room again. Then Eames continued as if there had been no break. “This is serious shit to play with,” he said. “Maybe more so than what you suggested.”

Arthur considered. Eames wasn’t wrong. The idea sent apprehension curling up his spine.

“And if you say no, that’s absolutely fine,” Eames said. “We never have to talk about it again.”

Arthur was quiet, more overcome with emotion than he’d like. This was an idea he’d never considered, which surprised him. Eames’ offer of it surprised him even further. The most surprising thing, though, was how much he wanted it. He could feel it under his skin, a new obsession building. He had to react carefully--Eames could too easily keep the upper hand with this. “Maybe,” Arthur said. “I need to think about it.”

Eames nodded. “That’s fine.” He rose as if he intended to leave. “Do you want to…”

Arthur smiled a little. _That one was transparent, Eames._ “Get back over here,” he ordered. Eames complied easily.

“Do you want to talk about this more?” Eames asked.

“No, not particularly,” Arthur said. He looked up at Eames, who was standing, thick-built and tan and so fucking hot. “I want to suck your cock.”

Eames’ surprise was gratifying, as was the subtle change in his posture. “Far be it from me to turn that down,” Eames said.

Arthur took his time. He settled Eames on the little sofa and opened his trousers, then mouthed hotly at the bulge in his underwear, not stopping until they were wet. Eames hissed and shifted, clearly wanting more. “Fuck,” he said. “Take them off.”

Arthur grinned. “When I feel like it,” he said, continuing to press his lips against the growing wet spot. “You’re not in charge here.”

Eames looked down, surprised again. He met Arthur’s eyes and smiled. “OK, pet,” he said. “Your show.”

Arthur hadn’t planned this, exactly, but it felt like a good idea. Eames needed to know that being dominated wasn’t the only way he got off. It wasn’t good for Eames to think he held all the cards.

When Arthur finally peeled Eames’ boxers off, his cock was straining. Arthur rubbed a thumb idly around the head and looked up at Eames’ flushed face. “You like that?” he asked, digging his thumb in a bit. “You like me doing it the way I want to?”

Eames nodded. “Fuck, yes.” He shifted his hips up, chasing Arthur’s hand. “Any way you want, love. Just...more.”

 _Perfect._ Arthur returned to his task, using his hand, his lips, his tongue. He drew it out, then pulled back when Eames’ balls started to tighten. “Not yet,” he chided. “My show, remember?”

Eames just moaned. It was enormously gratifying to see him having trouble making words. Arthur thought he should do it more often.

Arthur timed what he was doing. It was a trick he’d learned ages ago--a way to keep himself from rushing. He sucked Eames off until he was close to coming, then backed off and teased, then repeated. He did it for thirty minutes. His jaw ached, but he liked that, it kept him grounded, and kept him from enjoying what he was doing so much that he got carried away. Though the AC was blasting, Eames’ shirt was sticking to his sweaty chest, his hands white-knuckled on the edge of the soda. “Goddammit, Arthur, stop teasing,” he gritted, more begging than ordering. “This is beginning to hurt.”

Arthur laughed. “You suck at not being in control,” he chided.

Eames glared down at him. Sweat was dripping down his red face. “Please?” he said.

Arthur smiled, letting his dimples show. “Oh. Please? OK, then.” He moved his mouth back down to Eames’ cock, not using his hands at all this time, just swallowing around it. He reached up blindly and grasped Eames’ tight fists, interlacing their fingers, and rocked back and forth with the shift of Eames’ hips, his own control taken away as much as Eames’ now, their bodies forced into synch. From there, it took no time at all until Eames was crying out and shooting hard and hot down his throat. Arthur swallowed greedily, not stopping until Eames asked him to.

Arthur avoided Eames for two days. He didn’t actually need the time for consideration--he knew almost immediately what he wanted, and he hadn’t changed his mind. Still, there was no reason to let Eames know how well he’d done--better to make it seem as if the idea was only potentially appealing and its merits had to be weighed. Eames avoided Arthur as well, or at least didn’t show up in his room. Probably he was keeping himself busy with whatever con he was running. Arthur focused on his own work, some research for potential jobs, and waited.

On the third afternoon, Arthur found Eames by the pool, reading a paperback, even more tan than he’d been before. Arthur snorted and sat down next to him, tilting the umbrella to keep the sun away. “Busy, or shall we have lunch?”

Eames grinned. “I am feeling a bit peckish. Lead the way.”

Once they were settled at a table, Arthur laid his position out plainly. “I’m in, but I have some ground rules.”

Eames raised his eyebrows. “Of course.”

Arthur pursed his lips and readied himself for an argument. “First, this happens up here, not down below. I don’t want to deal with the Somnacin complications.”

Eames nodded. If he’d been planning otherwise, he didn’t show it.

“Next, I don’t want to know when.”

Eames frowned. “What do you mean?”

Arthur fully expected Eames to push back on this, so he went all-in. “I don’t want to know when I get the drug. I don’t want to expect it or be able to prepare for it.”

Eames leaned back a bit, considering. “You want me to drug you without your knowledge?”

“Precisely.”

Eames waited a beat, then nodded. “Acceptable. What else?”

For an instant, Arthur was thrown. He hadn’t expected that to be so easy. It made him nervous. Nowhere to go but forward. “No safewords, no colors.” He set his jaw.

Eames shook his head. “I don’t think that would be on the table anyway, darling. It likely won’t be possible.” He looked concerned. “Are you sure you understand what this drug is going to do? You may not be able to move or speak.”

Arthur nodded. “I understand that. I just figured you’d insist on some kind of back-up plan, and I don’t want that.”

Eames shrugged. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”

Arthur knew it was a ploy, but he felt stupid anyway. Damn Eames for getting ahead of him on this. “OK,” he said, trying to cover. “The final thing is that you have to actually DO things. You can’t just, like, drug me and then sit around.”

Eames smiled. “Do you really take me for the kind who is going to give up the opportunity to do whatever I want to you without resistance, darling?” He chuckled. “Apparently you don’t know me well so well as you think.”

Arthur scowled. Eames was the one who’d refused the last offer he’d made, one of complete submission. He narrowed his eyes and forced Eames to meet them. “Are we still playing chicken, Eames? Because I’m not going to swerve.”

Eames’ grin turned nasty, the way Arthur had seen it a thousand times. “I’m counting on it,” he said.

Arthur expected Eames to be transparent in his drugging, to pretend he was sneaking the cocktail into Arthur’s food or drink, but be sure Arthur knew it all the same. He didn’t realize, until he was lying on his hotel bed, his laptop and water bottle abandoned, unsure how to move his arms, that he’d underestimated Eames. _This,_ he thought fuzzily, _is what happens when you cede control to a thief._ He felt briefly stupid, but also excited, and, increasingly, too numb to much care.

It might have been just a moment later that Eames entered, or it might have been an hour. Time, like the feeling of the bed under him and the view of the ceiling above him, had stopped making sense for Arthur. All he could really feel was his own buzzing skin, his tongue heavy in his mouth, his limbs both too heavy to move and so light they appeared to be floating.

“How are you doing, pet?” Eames asked, crossing the room and looking down at him.

Arthur tried to say that he didn’t want to be checked in on, didn’t want to be coddled, that wasn’t part of their agreement. What came out, though, was more garbled, and sounded suspiciously like Arthur saying he was glad Eames was there. _Damn._

Eames ran a finger down Arthur’s bare arm, where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeve. Arthur shivered. The touch was electric, equal parts enticing and terrifying. “Alright,” Eames said. His voice was pleasant, but distant, as if he were speaking from far away. “Let’s see where we’re at with this. Arthur, if you can understand what I’m saying, nod your head.”

It took an effort, but Arthur managed to nod. Eames’ face was swimming in his eyes. He found if he concentrated on a tiny part of it, like the left side of Eames’ chin, or where his collarbone peaked out from his shirt, he could get it in focus, but the whole thing was simply too overwhelming. 

“Good,” Eames murmured. Arthur didn’t see him change position, but he was on the bed now, reaching for the buttons of Arthur’s shirt. Arthur was aware of being undressed, but unable to help, his limbs still not within his control. “Look at that,” Eames murmured. “You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

Time seemed to stop and start, Arthur’s experience fracturing into a disconnected series of snapshots. He was naked, his skin prickling cold in the air. He could hear Eames’ voice, but he couldn’t keep hold of the words. Then he was on his knees, Eames’ big hands holding him up by the hair. Eames was laughing--what was he laughing at? Arthur felt clumsy, like his body was too large for his brain to control. He thought wildly of a movie he’d seen, men inside giant machines, controlling the metal limbs by moving their own. He must have tried to explain this aloud, because Eames was laughing at him again.

Arthur didn’t realize he was hard until he was painfully so. He looked down at his dick in confusion and saw it was swollen and heavy. He got the impression something was happening to it--it was being...sucked? Touched? That wasn’t right. He couldn’t concentrate. It didn’t feel good, but he didn’t want it to stop. He heard his own voice, but he couldn’t make out the words.

There was stickiness on Arthur’s skin. Had he come? No, his cock was still hard. He tried to ask Eames, but the words were lost in his head. There were fingers in his mouth, he tasted bitterness and salt, and he licked greedily, gasping for breath and moaning around the invasion.

Arthur was on his knees again. He couldn’t hold his body up, his chest was pressed against the bed. There was so much sensation, he thought there must be more hands and mouths on him than just Eames’. He couldn’t turn to look, couldn’t ask if someone else had come into the room. He didn’t have to tell himself to relax, because he couldn’t do anything but give in. The room spun. He felt himself scream, but didn’t hear a noise.

Arthur came to feeling groggy and sick. For a moment, he searched his mind for what he’d been doing the night before to cause such an intense hangover. Then he remembered Eames, the drugs. He laid still, eyes closed, and took stock. He was nauseated and his head hurt. His limbs felt heavy. His body felt used.

When Arthur finally opened his eyes, it was to see Eames looking back at him. Eames was dressed, sitting on the couch. He looked tired. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.” Arthur struggled to sit up. He was also dressed, wearing an old t-shirt and boxers--things he typically slept in. He licked his dry lips. “How long was I out?”

Eames shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by out? Completely unconscious, maybe four hours?”

“And before that?” Arthur shivered as he asked.

“How much do you remember?”

Arthur considered. He didn’t remember much. He’d been alone and started feeling strange. Eames had come. From there, he had only blurry pictures and sensations. “Not much.”

Eames nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Did you fuck me?” Arthur heard his own voice as if it came from someone else. He sounded demanding, maybe a little panicked.

“Yes.” Eames’ voice and face remained impassive.

“Did I like it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Under the spray, Arthur’s mind swirled. He’d known the drugs would come with a hangover, and this one didn’t really feel much different than any other he’d experienced. He’d known, too, that he might not remember what happened while he was drugged. That part still felt unexpected. He was absolutely dependent on Eames’ version of events to know what happened. His stomach roiled. He took careful stock of his body. His dick was sore, as if he’d been hard a long time. He felt slick and open, as if he’d been fucked. There were no bruises or tears, but a hint of stubble burn hinted at Eames’ mouth on him. Those were the only clues he had.

Arthur showered for a long time, but when he came out, Eames was still in the chair, looking bored. “I don’t remember anything,” Arthur said. “I have to take your word for it. I have to believe you.”

Eames watched his face. Arthur wanted to hide.

“Is it scary?” Eames finally asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know yet. Did you like it?”

Eames tilted his head in consideration. “I liked some of it.”

“I don’t want to discuss it yet.”

“Alright.”

Apparently satisfied at Arthur’s ability to care for himself, Eames left a few minutes later. It was awkward between them--probably to be expected. Arthur ordered breakfast up, drank a lot of water, and considered. He wasn’t regretful. He felt detached from the whole experience. He didn’t even think about it that much as he continued through his day.

Though he was physically exhausted, Arthur lay in bed and couldn’t sleep. Finally, he let his mind wander to the previous night, trying to remember anything else that happened. He found that while he couldn’t pick out anything he could positively identify as a memory, he could picture all kinds of things. Himself, lying naked on this very bed, unable to move. Eames’ body on top of his, touching him, with no response. Eames pushing into him. Eames’ voice, teasing, with Arthur not even sure what he was hearing, much less able to talk back.

Arthur’s hand found his cock without him even thinking about it, stroking hard immediately. It was sore and too dry, and he pushed into his fist frantically anyway, picturing Eames holding him open, him unable to even balance on his knees, touching him everywhere. As he came, Arthur gasped and surprised himself by picturing something else, something he did remember--Eames sitting beside his bed as he slept the dreamless sleep of the drugged. Eames making sure he was cleaned up and dressed, making sure he woke up safe. That hadn’t ever been part of their deal, and yet it hadn’t occurred to Arthur that it would happen any other way. Eames, he realized with a sudden, sharp pain, much more real than anything else he’d felt all day, took care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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